TWDTH Outtakes
by Sinead Rivka
Summary: Please read "Things We Don't Tell Humans" before you read the scenes within, otherwise you will spoil the story, or be lost. These are all the tidbits that wouldn't fit in with the rest of the story, or that hit me after I'd already published a chapter. Spoilers for TWDTH, and NEW! Spoilers for TF4. BIG Spoilers for that one.
1. Flyboy

TWDTH Outtakes  
>47.5 – Flyboy<p>

_**Author's Note:**__ Unlike the main "Things We Don't Tell Humans" story, the chapters here won't be connected to songs. Instead, they're just going to be descriptive of what will be within the chapters. They'll also be shorter than the normal TWDTH chapters, more or less drabbles of thought that don't or wouldn't fit into the storyline as I write it. With each chapter, I'll let you know where it falls in the manner of "Chapter 2.5" or something of the sort._

_But . . . since you asked for it . . ._

_I give you Faust._

.o.

Gravity was a problem.

Wincing as he crinkled the edges of his new wings, Faust rolled over onto hands and knees, hearing bright encouragement from his parents as he got used to his new frame. Nobody had said that it was going to be _this_ hard to transition between frames. Well, maybe. Ratchet had warned him that the size difference between his two frames would mean that he would have quite a bit of a learning curve. He was two days into his frame, and he was _not_ enjoying his lack of coordination.

Which was why he was practicing basic hand-to-hand (mainly evasion) with Bluestreak. The Praxian understood how sensitive wings could be, and was careful to avoid them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see the grey and red mech offer a bright grin before giving him a firm shove backwards.

Face lifting into a snarl, Faust felt innate reflexes take over and he executed a neat back-handspring, settling himself firmly upon his feet and watching Bluestreak's form.

Or rather, where Bluestreak had been.

He now faced Barricade.

Looks like he had either leveled up, or had tempted the imp of the perverse for far too long.

The shock trooper and frontliner grinned ferally before darting in and shoving at the flier, moving too quickly for clawed hands to grasp his armor and use him as a hand-hold.

Tumbling to his aft, the Youngling hissed and spat a curse out in Cybertronian.

"Where did you learn that?" Prowl demanded from somewhere behind him.

Faust winced, then shrunk inwards very slightly. The last thing he had wanted to do was to torque off the very mechs he idolized. "Uhm. Ratchet?" But he wasn't above throwing another Adult under the bus. Standing, he looked at Barricade and then took two running steps closer, moving as fast and as sudden as his frame would allow him at this time. The black and white agent merely blinked before catching him around the middle and taking him off-balance, knocking the air from his vents and systems with a firm blow to his torso. With fans stuttering, wings screaming with pain where one of them had crumpled in half under him, Faust coughed to get cool air to his core, glaring at the older mech, his sensory-crest flattened to his helm to protect the sensitive array.

Shrugging, Barricade shook his head. "You're young. Unless you know what you're doing, _never_ attack a mech head-on. It'll get you killed. I could have put my hand through your Spark chamber if I was an enemy. Get up. Try again."

"No."

Tilting his head curiously amid the sudden silence, Barricade asked, "No? Are you disobeying your teacher?"

"You aren't my teacher, Barricade. You aren't even a tutor." Rolling to his feet, his unique-to-fliers legs moved to a point where they were firmly planted under him. He pointed to Prowl. "I will accept _his_ teaching." Pointing to Ratchet, Wheeljack, First Aid, Kup, Bumblebee, Optimus, Elita, and then to a few of the humans, he stated, "I will learn from _them_. I accept _their_ bids to teach me. But you? You don't have the right to teach me anything. Not until I'm sure you can be trusted." With each sentence and each moment of irritation rising, the crest of sensors also rose into an intimidation posture.

"All those mechs you pointed to? _They_ trust me, Sparkling."

"That's them. They've known you all your life."

"With _that_ argument, shouldn't you trust _their_ judgment?"

"No. I prefer to make my _own_ decisions upon whom I should trust. They made their decisions to trust you long ago. I just got to meet you recently. That doesn't mean that I like you or trust you."

Barricade let his face turn upwards into a gentle smile, startling Faust. Walking over, the Adult held one hand out. "Good. Trust _them_, though. And always follow your Spark's promptings. At the behest of Prowl, I volunteered to test you to see how you would respond to that situation."

Tilting his head to one side curiously, the fanned crest of sensors falling down half-way into a state of thoughtful restfulness. "If my Spark prompts me to trust an enemy, then what?"

"Test that out _carefully_," Optimus replied, coming onto the field. He shook off Ratchet, who was trying to adjust one of the junctions where his flight tech attached to, but to no avail as the medic spat a hiss of static at him and pulled him close again to continue his work. "Many of my generation have a lot of hate and pain associated with many Decepticons. Your generation does not have those negative emotions attached to you. Therefore, you may be able to make a clearer decision regarding one whom we may dismiss as an enemy."

"Do be careful, though," Kup said from where he sat with several of the Sparklings gathered around him. They were all quite fascinated with Faust's new frame, and how he was adjusting to being in it. A few were jealous, but most were just in awe and anticipation of their own upgrades one day. "Balance out what your Spark feels and what information your processors are giving to you. Don't hesitate to act with extreme cautiousness if you feel that he mech in question is dangerous."

Faust nodded, stretching his wings and crest to their fullest ability. He knew from the frame information that was loaded into his processor that the wings he sported were primarily for stabilization during flight, and not much else. His main boosters, located upon his back, were his source of propulsion.

He wanted to fly within a week. As he smiled down at his Caretakers, as he crouched to hesitantly touch Dana's arm with careful fingertips, Faust knew that someday soon . . . he _would_ be able to fly her and Tom to _wherever_ they desired.

One step at a time, though. And he _hated_ the slow-moving process.


	2. Generations

TWDTH 56.5

Generations

_**Author's Note:**__ I told you I'd put it in the outtakes. Meet Giant._

.o.

Hogarth stood outside of the door of his old farmhouse, arms crossed over his broad chest. He smiled at the sight before him.

A boy and his alien robot walked up the dirt road to his house.

"Well, now, I knew that the crazy in our family attracted other crazies, but this is special, kid," the old man said with a grin. "Haven't seen you since the family reunion. You were, what, two years old then. With white-boy brillo-pad hair."

Grinning, the grand-nephew walked the final few steps closer to old man Hughes, holding his hand out. He got himself pulled into a warm embrace instead. The old relative laughed heartily, reaching a hand up fearlessly to the boy's Guardian. "I knew that there would be more visitors coming down sooner or later. Never figured that my family would attract them like bees to honey. What's your name?"

"Bumblebee," the bright mech smiled.

"Hah! No pun intended, I hope? Sam, nephew, it is _good_ to see you." He squeezed the shoulders of the boy again before ruffling his hair.

"Grand-nephew?"

"Psh. Nephew is nephew. I have enough grand-kids to worry about. Uncle Garth or Garth will do just fine. Now. Bumblebee. From what I've heard since the Egypt fiasco, you and your kind come from Cybertron, yes?"

The bot trilled an affirmative.

"Hm. And you transform? Can I see it?"

With a flurry of parts, a shiny new Camaro was sitting on the dirt driveway. A teenager bustled out of the door, having obviously been watching. "Oh-Em-Gee, it's the Twenty-Eleven Camaro!"

Sighing, Hogarth reached over to fondly rough the boy up. "Kent, be polite."

"Oh. Hi, Sam. Hi, Bumblebee. Can I come with you guys to the scrapyard, Granpa? CanIcanIcanI_pleeeaaassee_?"

"Hi, Kent," Sam laughed, enjoying the bright nature of the younger boy.

"How many can you seat, Bumblebee?" Hogarth asked, wanting to be considerate.

"Hm . . . I can configure myself to seat five safely. But I doubt that I will have to shift too much around."

"Go get your sister, boyo."

"Aww, do I _have_ to?"

"You're sounding like you're eight years old. Go get your sister."

Huffing, the boy stalked back into the house, yelling for "sissy" to get her stuff. Sam chuckled. "I wished for _eons_ that I could have siblings. Then I end up with a few metal ones." He fondly kicked a tire, leaning against Bee's fender.

"I know the feeling intimately, kid." Rubbing at his back, Hogarth grinned. He was still spry for a sixty-two-year-old, but was starting to feel the aches of age. "My own kids love Giant, but he's really bonded with my grand-daughter. Long-lived folk tend to have favorites among the younger upstarts and aren't shy about saying so."

Kent reappeared with a backpack, a slightly younger girl beside him. Tears brimmed over her gaze, and Sam sucked at his teeth once. He knew that the older brother was bullying her. Good thing he had an ace up his sleeve. Leaning back, he yelled over his shoulder, "They're good!"

Elita melted out of the treeline, Ratchet and Wheeljack flanking her. Hogarth's jaw dropped at the casual show of chameleon abilities. "Well, I'll be."

Crouching, the femme held her hand out to the older man. "I'm Elita-One, co-leader of the Autobots. Bumblebee is my son, as we would say in your vernacular."

"It's my honor to meet you, ma'am." 

"Elita will do," she chuckled. Smiling at the young girl who was now too surprised to be crying over being bullied by a sibling, she held her hand out invitingly. The little girl fearlessly settled into the metal palm, and was raised twelve feet up to Elita's optic-level, already starting up a soft chatter of words back and forth.

Ratchet blinked at the scan he received of the small family, then chuckled and looked to Hogarth. "I'm Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer for the Autobots."

"I suppose we'll be carried?" Hogarth chuckled, taking his time to seat himself comfortably upon the broad palm. "With the wilderness here, I'll bet it feels good to stretch the limbs."

Kent looked lost for a moment, but Wheeljack warbled a laugh and crouched, his white, green and orange armor almost garish in the light. "Well! From what we've hacked into, you quite the gear-head! I saw a video of your science project last year with making an engine from _paper_. I'd probably never get that far."

"It would have spontaneously combusted, unless you enameled the paper," Ratchet snarked brightly, waiting as Bumblebee sprang out of his alt mode and scooped Sam up to his shoulder.

Half an hour later, Ratchet was staring up at Giant. "Well, slag me twice and call me a fragging _toaster_. Never figured I'd see one of your kind again."

The white eyes blinked, and a no-longer-rusty voice asked with gentle tones, "Have we met before?"

"No, not at all. Primus, you're in good condition for a slagger who hasn't had energon in who-knows how long."

"But you know what I am."

"An Omega Sentinel. A Guard that predates everything save for Cybertron and the Primes." The CMO looked to Hogarth. "If I'm reading the reports correctly, then you, sir, made a very wise decision in helping keep this mech sane."

"Uhm, care to spell everything out for the rest of us, Ratch?" Sam asked from his perch, one arm resting casually around Bumblebee's neck.

Giant nodded cautiously. He knew that Hogarth was going to be bringing these other-worlders to meet him today. But he didn't expect something like _this_. To be _known_? To have someone have a history for him? To be given back a past he wasn't sure he wanted to know?

"Before you . . . before you fill us in, do you know _me_, personally?"

Ratchet blinked, then shook his head. "Doesn't mean that some of the _real_ old mechs wouldn't know you, though. That bothers you?"

"I am not sure if I want to remember a past where I am used as a weapon."

Elita saw Ratchet's mouth slacken with shock, and took over smoothly, her voice calming. "Giant, an Omega Sentinel wasn't always used as a weapon."

"They why does every inch under my plating consist of ordinance that I refuse to share with the American government?" he asked, leaning closer to the small femme.

She reached up fearlessly, placing a hand over an energy source that pulsed with a strong, stately rhythm. "Self-defense, and defense of your tribe, team, squad, or individual charge."

"Who are you?"

Introducing herself, causing him to backpedal in shock at her rank, Elita smiled and followed him closer, each step causing him to take one or a half-step backwards. "You fear me?"

"No! No . . . I . . . I fear bringing harm to you, if inadvertently. Your . . . your husband?"

"Sparkmate. Soulmate."

"Him. He would end me if harm befell you while you were around me."

Smiling, she reached up and pressed her hand once more to his chest, showing him through her actions that she had no fear of him. "No. He is a fair, kind, and loving Spark, and would see the truth for what it was. I have a habit of jumping headfirst into a skirmish, and he would most likely berate me rather than put you at fault."

The old man watching the interaction saw how his grandchild smiled fearlessly up to his Giant. She held her arms out imperiously, demanding to be picked up. "Giant! Elita's awesome! She's like, the leader of the Autobots, and she's _sooo_ cool! She said that she really wants to be your friend, and to help you keep us all safe."

Holding his hand out for the child to clamber into, the metal man, now revealed to be the Guardian he was, curled his fingers gently around the precious little life. "You protect?"

"Just as fervently as you do."

"Then . . . I will make a bargain with you. I will help you and join with you to protect this sector of my home. If you find out who I am, if you find out my past, and I feel ready to hear it—"

"Which I will do!" Elita promised with a firmness that surprised the humans around her.

"—then I will ask you for it."

"Deal."

They smiled at one another, and Ratchet settled Hogarth upon the ground with infinite gentleness. Shoving fists onto hips, he looked _up_ at the Guardian. "Right. Sit down. I don't slaggin' care what the humans have been mucking around with in your systems, but I want to make sure you're all in full functioning order."

Bright optics narrowed. "Will you need a weapons check?"

"Activated only. You don't have to fire one round. I just need to know that you're not going to have a jam or have something fritz out right when you need to protect your family."

As Giant acquiesced, Hogarth looked over to Sam and murmured, "Kid . . . Giant is one of _your_ aliens?"

"_Our_ aliens," Samuel Prime replied, his voice steady and showing that he was _quite_ sure of Giant's origins, even if he was a completely different build than everyone else that he knew. "They're yours, too, because of Giant."

Grunting, resting an arm around his grandson and glancing up at Wheeljack and Bumblebee, he said, "You know they can survive nukes, right?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah. But the military doesn't know that. And they aren't _going_ to know that. Tactical nukes are a frustration and the resulting EMP from them whites out and burns through _everyone's_ communication for about a week."

"Huh."

"Yeap."

"You got some pretty big shoes to fill, Sam." Old man Hughes grinned and looked up at Giant, whose gaze drifted down to his first charge. They shared a fond smile, and he murmured, "Pretty big shoes indeed, eh, Giant?"

.o.

_**Author's Note:**__ More of a drabble than anything else for this. There wasn't much else on this subject in my mind._


	3. Age of Extinction

_**Author's Note:**__ Hey everyone! Just saw TF4 … No, I won't be making TWDTH compatible with it, but yes, this is a crossover outtake just to get it out of my system. Time setting is a little fluid to get all my ducks in one pond. But dayum. I have to say I loved their version of Hound, even if he was really Kup. Also, I haven't really edited this. I just wanted to blurt my thoughts onto a page._

.o.

Sand and radiation washed over the Eight Primes and the Ten Protectorates. A quiet summit between them all had abruptly come to a halt as the Matrixes did _something_, dumping them into hills that could have come straight from the DragonBall anime. Scans washed outwards, seeing recent destruction and traces of spilled energon, information flowing over the Prime Cloud swifter than commlinks.

Moving as if one unit, Sam walked to the middle of the dual circles that had formed around himself and Will. Settling upon knees, bracing himself, he let his consciousness and AllSpark sense spread out paper-thin to its greatest range. _~Group of four unknowns to the far north. No, revising that, one Spark feels like Grimlock's. Group of four to the south . . . getting a read on one Spark echoing with Bumblebee's signature. One within a mile, Spark echoes with Optimus'.~_ He opened his eyes, keeping to radio and physical silence. _~That Optimus is in very deep pain.~_

_~A Prime, though?~_ Optimus turned to look down at his Brother.

_~Yes, but barely, from what I could feel. His Spark feels fractured.~_ He looked up at Optimus, then followed the circle around at faces suddenly turned inwards, patient and ready to hear what may be said. Each Spark was both tender and determined to protect their own. Elita-One. Bumblebee. Ratchet. Jazz. Hot Rod. William Lennox.

Outside of the inner circle of Primes stood their Protectorates.

Megatron, whose ruby optics felt tired and wise. Chromia, weaponry at the ready. Barricade, unarmed but no less dangerous. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, blades drawn and battlemasks down. Prowl, pellet gun drawn and doorwings condensed to the least possible surface area without minimizing his sensory information. Ultra Magnus, a walking armory just waiting to lay down the law. Ironhide, cannons spinning. Terratron, the oldest, the teacher, survivor of several wars, knowing that there was no threat in the valley. Faustus, the youngest, turbines hot and ready to grab Sam and fly outside of the danger area as soon as possible, guns at the ready.

No words were spoken, but as one, the Primes began moving towards the shattered Prime until the soft bass keening was heard.

_~I vote we let the brat go first.~_

_~After you, 'Hide.~_

_~Psh. You know be better than that.~_

_~Yeah. "Shoot first, let Primus sort 'em out.~_

_~Yeap. That's me.~_

_~Mechs, can we be serious here? That Prime has Optimus' voice, and I can't stand hearing that keen.~_ Elita's statement sobered the mood, bringing the decision to mind.

Optimus took steps forward to round the turn in the sharp valley. _~Megatron, stay here. We don't know what his mind is like.~_

_~First time you've said something smart all day.~_

_~Oh, for-~_

Megatron danced out of Elita's swatting range with a grin, "hiding" behind Sam, who held his hands up.

Optimus left them behind, knowing that they would behave themselves while he took a moment to center himself. He rounded the final corner, viewing a version of himself with sleeker armor and unhealed battle damage. Where was Ratchet, to bitch at him during repairs?

His next step broke a downed log intentionally, alerting the keening Prime before him of his presence. The response was instantaneous, with a canon aimed directly at his helm, battlemask up, but . . . then confusion as . . .

"What in the Pit . . . ?"

"Easy, mech. I'm a little lost. Mind powering down the peashooter?"

The cannon didn't power down, but it was lowered. Optimus' left hand went up to rub at his faceplates, battlemask retratcting. "I . . . Are you me?"

"One version, perhaps. We have a feeling that this is not our universe."

"We?"

"Mm. I elected to go first."

"So they send their Prime in without backup?"

"Nobody ever said he was alone," Megatron's voice said from above. He had moved to perch on an outcropping, weapons systems completely powered down, posture neutral, and face open. "My Prime is a pain in the aft, rather headstrong, and I have no doubts of his warrior prowress, but I will not let him go alone into a volatile situation, whether I'm against him or with him."

Grunting, Optimus rolled his optics at the words. "Fragging babysitter."

"Terratron was threatening to follow you; you're my responsibility."

"Your . . . you never had war between you?" the broken Prime asked, words halting.

"Pah!" Megatron slid down the hill and stood beside his Optimus. "We never said that. Our history is long, and our war brutal and unnecessary. But the end is close. I have a few renegades to flatten, but after that, we will have peace again."

The cannon powered down and was stored, leaving Optimus' hands free to press against his face. His knees buckled, leaving the blockier Prime to catch his elbows and lower him to the ground gently, voice soft and reassuring. "Easy, mech. I have you. Easy, now. Where is Ratchet? Your wounds need-"

"Ratchet's _dead_. He's _gone_. His Spark removed, and we . . . I don't . . ."

_~Shit shit shit shit shit.~_

_~. . . Op, are you using human cuss words?~_

_~His Ratchet is dead.~_

Silence, before exclamations denoting that Ratchet changed his chromaphores back to chartreuse.

The stocky mech snarled at Megatron to get out of the way before kneeling beside the two Optimuses. "Your Ratchet may be gone, but let me help you." Turning, he elbowed at his Prime. "Stop hovering. Or I'll have Megs sit on you."

Barking a static-laden laugh, the wounded mech shuddered. "How are you here?"

"Same way the rest of us Primes got here: Primus and the Primes Past have a sense of humor and are more meddlesome than I am in Prowl's love life."

"I heard that, and I'll find a way to repay you." Prowl and Jazz walked out with the Twins. The appearance of the silver mech brought a fresh wave of keens. Prowl's doorwings dropped, but he moved to assist Ratchet with long practice. He rested a hand on his Optimus' shoulder in passing as the mech kneeled before his weeping counterpart, Megatron standing behind the brightly-colored Prime.

Jazz moved to cuddle up against Optimus' side. "Hey, it gonna be okay, y'hear me, m'mech?" He looked over to Megatron, then down at his friend's concerned face, tossing a pebble to get his attention. "You're Orion while we're here. I don' wanna confuse nobody."

"Voice of reason, as always," Ratchet grumbled.

"Voice of chaos, you mean," Prowl clarified, holding tools as they were absently handed to him. This, though, seemed to pull Optimus' attention to him. He smiled warmly. "Oh, I take it that your Prowl wasn't raised by your Ratchet."

"No . . ."

"Hm. Interesting. I wonder when the schism between our universes occurred."

"Someone stop 'im from talkin' about what he's thinkin' 'fore my processor goes inta shoot-first mode."

Amid heavy protests, Optimus stood up to face Ironhide. Will sat upon the mech's shoulder, elbows on knees and smiling sadly. Megatron smiled and helped steady the Prime, Ironhide taking his other side. "You _died_ . . . Sentinel . . . He killed you . . . I saw your remains . . ."

"Sentinel. Did. _What_?" Terratron growled, stalking closer, armor fluffed and aggressive. Optimus would have taken steps back, had Orion rested his hand on a shoulder. Behind Terratron were the remaining Primes and Protectorates. "That rat-bastard killed _one of my mechs_?! I'll slaughter him before he lays a hand on my Protectorate!"

"It hasn't happened yet, nor has any attempt happened," Megatron replied with cool logic. "Calm your glitches."

"Who is _he_?" Optimus asked quietly.

"Sentinel's Lord Protector, Terratron," Orion replied. "He has trained a good most of us."

But it was another frame that caught his optic, bringing a low groan and keen to his vocalizer and the mech to his knees a second time. "Elita . . ."

"We didn't want to overwhelm you, but it seems like the Matrixes have had other plans," Sam said, walking out in front of his group. "It's going to be all right, Op. It isn't all right _now,_ but it can be."

"Boy."

"Mm. And a Prime."

"What? Impossible. How?"

Elita chuckled. "Ratchet is giving you the evil optic. You might want to set down and let him finish repairs before he sedates you." She gave him a stern once-over, then shook her head. "Which probably would also do you a world of good. When's the last time you recharged? Refueled? Sunstreaker! Get the mech some of that high-grade you're hiding."

"And when the _Pit_ were you going to let me know that your nanites had been deactivated for Primus-knows how long?!" Grabbing the long-legged mech's shoulder, Ratchet roughly dragged the mech back onto his aft, setting him down with a firm hand. "Do I need to make folks sit on you?"

"Yes," came the waspish retort as Optimus turned to face the CMO.

And yet he bellowed in shock as several mechs tackled him in a gleeful puppy-pile, managing to not cover up the worst of the wounds with their frames.

Orion grinned down at the spluttering mech. "You _did_ say that you needed the help staying down. Stop complaining like a Sparkling." Seating himself at Optimus' helm with Elita at his side, he continued. "Samuel has retained much of the AllSpark's knowledge and history, which is helpfully organized through what had been the Fallen's Matrix. He was chosen as Prime in Egypt."

"Which gave you _fits_ for weeks trying to figure out how it all works," Sam added. He casually climbed over several frames pinning Optimus down, kicking at an arm here, or reaching over to swat at a sensory horn there. He was at complete comfort with his Prime and Protectorate brothers. Jazz burrowed against Optimus' side a bit more closely with a grin. Sam ended up fearlessly settling down upon one signature black cannon that had broad red and blue shoulders pinned.

"But _how_ can you be a Prime, Sam?"

"There were the original Thirteen Primes Past. Some Matrixes are still lost to the stars." Sam held his hand out before him, calling his Matrix from where it decorated his skin in AllSpark fractals. As it formed within his hand, he continued. "I have a hard time understanding the dichotomy of free will and fate, but the Primes Past and Primus, God, reassures me that I'm doing just fine as I am." The heady weight of his Matrix in his hand, Sam looked the downed mech squarely in the optics. "But it waited until a human could handle the responsibilities, handle the pain of rejection by a good amount of their own species, and yet still be able to face his-"

Elita coughed.

"And _her_. Dammit, Elita, lemme finish, femme."

"Taking after my Bonded, I see."

"What, did you think I was going to _say_?" He shook his head, holding the Matrix between his hands. "Optimus . . . you are my brother where I am from. But the mech you are _now_ is not the mech that I have grown up admiring and loving as first a father-figure, then a brother. Something has fractured in your Spark." He watched the play of emotions crossing the metal face with expertise, continuing only when he had Optimus' full attention again.

"You chose not to feel, because you, as a Prime, as an empathetic leader, have often felt too much."

"I am a warrior. I cannot-"

"You are a _Prime_."

"But the losses-"

"Life is pain. It's how we deal with it that defines us. Do we shut out the pain in hopes that any following anguish will leave us alone? Or will we face each painful experience with open arms, understanding that the seasons in our lives must all come and go?"

"I _can't do this_, Samuel!"

"You have before."

"I had _support_! I had Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet! I had mechs who could _help_ me!"

"Can you not trust Bumblebee? Can you not trust any handful of others to be that support that you need?"

Optics offlining and helm falling back, Optimus sobbed with heaving keens. Jazz's Spark against his wounded side. Ironhide's against his less-wounded side. Ratchet's hovering over his own as he repaired the heavy damage. The strange echo of his own Spark above his helm. The echo of the Bond with Elita, broken for millenia, which never lessened in intensity.

And then a new one.

Direct above his own Spark.

Touching those fractures, tracing fingers along the depth, feeling the razor edges.

And the _words_ . . . deep within his psyche.

_~You can be healed, Optimus Prime. But you have to choose if you want this healing. As you say, freedom is the right of all sentient beings. Freedom to choose. Freedom to live, continuing along the dark path you are toeing. Freedom to heal, to feel the pain all over again, but to rise above it.~_

He sobbed.

_~Do you want to keep going this way?~_

_~No.~_

_~You want . . .?~_

_~I __**need**__ peace, Samuel Prime. AllSpark Prime. I need peace. Please . . .~_

And the world turned on its side.

Samuel was the conduit to his Spark, the connection between all Sparks.

Ratchet was the Healer, looking into every crack and assessing every inch of damage, attention evenly, perfectly, divided between the world within the Spark and the physical world.

Bumblebee, oh, his little Sparkling grown into such a mech . . . He was exploring all facets of the Spark, mapping every detail with scary intensity.

Lennox, firmly anchoring Sam as human brother and as a Warrior to defend, adding his strength to Optimus as the inspection amid sobs continued on. He was ashamed of his need for the versatile, adaptable humans and their incredible strength.

And then it truly began.

Jazz, chaos incarnate, distracted him with flickers of the life-that-came-after, adding to it scenes from their world and time, showing him the past shared among the Autobots and Decepticons.

Hot Rod following in Ratchet's wake as the medic ripped open the wounds yet again to bleed them clean. The young Prime cauterized them shut when told to, heat and pain and then each minute moment bringing Optimus back together again.

Elita's touch. Soothing, gentling the burns into scars, hovering and waiting until even those scars began to fade. Patient. Fierce. Sweet. Everything that his Elita was. Oh, he missed the other half of his Spark.

And then . . . _himself_. Confident strength. Gentle leadership. Peace. Centered understanding. All who he was. All who he wished he could have been. Everything about himself that he had lost. Everything.

Acceptance.

Peace.

Embraced.

Embraced by those who cared for him. Died for him.

And he was eased back into the physical world, held against his counterpart while a pile of the Primes curled around them as his keens drifted into hiccups.

The Protectorates were in a circle around them, only Megatron and Terratron facing inwards, watching the Primes carefully. He looked up at his once-brother, or the mirror of his once-brother. The scarred faceplates curled into the soft, indulgent smile he remembered, and his hand, no longer the long taloned weapon but formed much more human-like, reached down to cup his audial. "Rest, bratling. You're safe here. Recharge. You will feel better afterwards."

Optics unable to stay online, he nodded, turning his face into that strong hand. He missed his brother, and he had the feeling that this Megatron knew that fact.

.o.

When he onlined two days later, he looked up at Grimlock, who stood watch while the Dinobots and his Autobots camped out just downhill from them. The humans were with them, Cade and Crosshairs having a moment while Drift chuckled at the human's tenacity. Hound snorted and shook his helm, shoving Crosshairs a half-pace away from the human with easy strength.

Bumblebee looked up from where he was looking over some of Joshua Joyce's theories. His optics met Optimus', but drifted up to Grimlock before moving back down. He didn't give away that the Prime was alert yet, giving Optimus the a few more minutes to gather himself. When he finally found it in himself to move, Optimus rested a hand over where his wound had been, feeling new metal. His Spark chamber had even been repaired to pristine condition, though Ratchet undoubtedly made sure that some of the metals that Cade had used would remain as his way of saying "thank you" to the human.

Grimlock rumbled above him. "Strange readings two days ago."

Drift stood and looked over, shocked that he had overseen his leader's onlining. Optimus drew in a breath. "Oh?"

A series of images were transmitted to him.

The first was the first frame of Grimlock's view when rounding the corner into the valley, seeing the circle of Protectorates with weapons drawn in defensive stances.

Then the next frame, simple energy where the mechs had been, showing the inner circle of Primes, calmly viewing the "intruder" with compassion. They stayed long enough to nod at Grimlock, then they, too, were gone.

And then it was him, held by the other Optimus, Elita standing at his shoulder, Megatron behind them with hands resting on hips. Sam stood upon a shoulder, smiling broadly.

Then they were gone, his frame settled upon the ground gently.

Optimus scrambled to his feet, looking out and around him, startling the humans and the less-observant mechs.

No wonder only Grimlock dared to stand so close, but even he dared not stand within what Optimus saw.

Burns, in the shape of pedes, around him in two concentric circles.

He rested his hand over his Spark again, focusing within.

Bright.

Clean.

Whole.

He drew in a deep breath and released it. _:Have you told anyone what you saw?:_

_:Negative. They be scared, seeing burns. Thought you be attacked. Him, Bumblebe, and him, Hound, disagree theory attacked. None stand on burns. Superstitious.:_

Optimus nodded, then drew himself up. He would not take this gift lightly. Stepping outside of the circle to meet Bumblebee, he drew the mechling against his side in a show of affection that he had not indulged in for in too many long years. His mechling sank against him, Sparkbeat slowing as their fields overlapped and sank into a synch. "My friends, thank you for standing guard while I rested. What have I missed?"


	4. Drabble Request: Music

Drabble 1: Music  
>(Requested by SomeWishfulThinking.)<p>

_**Author's Note:** I so didn't edit either drabble, so please ignore the grammatical errors I'm too tired to fix._

.o.

It was a rare moment for the mechs of NEST to settle down long enough to enjoy chatting with their human counterparts in the Berkshires over a three-day weekend. Under the guise of radio-silence training exercises to keep the government-appointed officials off their back, they had snuck off to Massachusetts to play in the mountanous western portion of the state. They did a few small training exercises, mostly focusing on how to track humans in environments where it was harder for them to move though.

It was an autumnal Monday holiday for some arse-nugget explorer who thought he discovered a new land, dusk falling and the chill setting in again. Optimus settled down with Elita resting against his shoulder, her arm draped around the back of his neck while the rest of the mechs wandered in. He was utterly hopeless at tracking in the woodlands, and knew it.

Hell. _Ratchet_ was better at it than he was. So with a chuckle, he had stayed with the civillians and Sparklings, talking about his life before the war. When each human had been found, they were brought in by the mech who found them, and joined the circle. Unsurprisingly, it was Burke who was the last man in, triumphantly grinning and leading Topspin of all mechs in by a rope around the wrist. The Wrecker was laughingly taking it in stride, enjoying the fact that the man had led him on a merry chase to a trap. He still had clammy mud chilling under his plating, and knew that it would take help from Leadfoot to get it all out.

Hot chocolate and coffee was passed around a large firepit, along with a few of the more-alcolic "warming" drinks to be added to the simple beverages. The firepit had been what kept Optimus' hands busy, taking the time to enjoy making something that would be of use to many of his friends. One question finally pierced the warm fog of his mate rubbing at tense neck cables, making him smile.

"So we heard your music at the Bonding Ceremony a few months ago." Epps leaned back and grinned. "What do you think of _ours_?"

"Rubbish," Roadbuster instantly replied with a grin, sassing the human he openly regarded as his friend.

Laughing at the expression on Epps' face, the gathered human force straightened and looked expectantly at their Autobot counterparts. Ironhide chuffed a laugh. "Prime, you first."

"Oh, get rusted," Optimus growled, Elita laughing at her mate hating to be put on the spot like that.

"Aww, yah love me."

Muttering uncomplimentary things about Ironhide's life choices, Optimus finally siged and gave in. "Classical orchestral music. Modern ochestral scores, especially if they include chamber-music-style choral arrangements. Some lyrical rock."

"Rock? You?" Graham asked, eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline.

"He likes Within Temptation," Elita supplied with a grin. "Which _I_ got him hooked on, thank you very much. I love modern rock, so long as it's not just someone screaming into a microphone."

Since they were going around in a circle at this point, the humans looked to the right of Elita, focusing on Ratchet. The amulance pursed his lips. "Pass."

"No passes! Spill, medic!" Ironhide laughed.

"I hate you. Watch me reattach your canon next time it gets blown off."

"Spiiiilllll!"

After a glare, the mech huffed and growled, "Fine. Ambient or 'chillout' electronic music. It goes well to soothe my rage when I have to piece your sorry afts together again!"

After the snickers died down, Sunstreaker, together with Sideswipe for the few moments that they were able to not be seen by the government, were debating over their Bond before shrugging. "Anything we can dance to, anything we can fight to. Something with a hard beat and a good tempo."

The Wreckers grinned and chorused, "Celtic Punk Rock!"

"And this shocks _nobody_," Lennox drawled, grinning from where he leaned against Ironhide's leg. He nonchalantly sipped at his whiskey-and-raspberry-liquer hot chocolate. "All right, big guy. Your turn." He tapped his knuckles against Ironhide's armor.

"Hmph."

"No passes. You said it yourself."

It took a little more hemming and hawing until he finally admitted, "Classic Country music. Like Johnny Cash."

"Oh, good. Remind me that the next time Annabelle asks to go to a Taylor Swift concert, _you're_ taking her."

"Oh, I hate you."

When it was his turn, Jolt shrugged and said, "Electronica. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Bumblebee played a few riffs of a few of the harder electronica styles, from dubstep to house, then to chillstep and some hardcore before he grinned and settled his doorwings again.

Epps grinned at the diversity among them, enjoying the fact that while there was some good-natured ribbing over the different styles, it was fun to note that even with portions played, none of the mechs really bashed any of the musical choices of the other. When he commented upon that, the response blew him completely away.

"It's all math, frequency, and preferences for what frequencies one finds soothing, when it all comes down to the wire," Ratchet replied, leaning elbows upon his knees. "Just because I may find bagpipes to be jarring to the audials, doesn't mean that they aren't powerful tools of creating frequencies heard over long distances. For that matter, uilleann pipes don't seem to bother me as much as the war pipes."

"So you're saying that what we enjoy as music is simply finding a frequency that resonates with us?"

"Precisely." He lowered his helm. "It's not so different than finding your soulmate."


	5. Drabble Request: Wheelie & Sam

Drabble Two: Wheelie & Sam  
>(Requested by Sonic Serendipity.)<p>

.o.

For two weeks, Wheelie hid under the bed in his shared dorm with Leo. Sam didn't make him come out, or even try to make him leave. Instead, Wheelie would online to his misery, only to find a series of tough woolen blankets easily at hand. Then, after Sam had gotten a care package from his home, a small bag had been pushed under the edge of the bed. Cautiously opening it, Wheelie found a well-used but almost-newest-generation of the Nintendo DS and several game cartridges. The battery needed to be charged, but that wasn't terrible.

He peeked out over the top of the gaming case, seeing Sam's hand brushing over where the bag had been . . . wait. Was it not meant for him? Of course it wasn't. Wheelie wasn't good enough for that.

He began to zip it up, but the worn, cracked voice of his Prime paused his actions. "Good. I was hoping you were awake. Let me know when you're ready to come out, Wheelie." He crouched, then lay on his stomach to look under the bed, sliding a piece of paper towards the little red-opticked mechling. "This is my schedule for this semester. Jack into the wi-fi here, okay? You know my email."

Wheelie nodded hesitantly, looking down at the DS, then back up at Sam. The college kid smiled sadly, but didn't reach under the bed, into the territory that was clearly now Wheelie's. "The DS . . . I get to use it?"

"That's why I asked home for it. I figured that you might need something to do that wasn't educational."

"But . . ."

"The plugstrip's at the foot of the bed. I need to get dinner, I'll be back in about an hour."

The same phrase. Sam was going to leave, but then he was going to come back. He always came back.

Only this time, the human added something new.

"Wheelie . . . are you going to be okay here while I go get dinner?"

Afraid to show his feelings, but even more afraid to be alone, the mechling shook his head violently, unwilling to look up at Sam.

"Okay. I'll order Chinese food for the guys and have them bring my dinner up to me. I won't leave, okay? You don't want to be alone, right?"

"R-right."

"Then I'm staying right here. Up on top of the bed, 'cause the floor's a bit unforgiving. I've got reading to do for tomorrow's quiz anyway."

Wheelie watched Sam's feet carefully, watching to see if he would leave him anyway. And yet he was reassured as the boy walked around the room, ordering dinner before collapsing on the bed with a textbook and a groan.

He was listened to. And it warmed a bit of his Spark to know this.

.o.

Wheelie was exploring under Sam's desk when he and Leo entered, debating the Astronomy professor's Mental Illness of the Week. This week: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder versus Multiple Personality Disorder. The boys were being crass, knew it, didn't care, and overall were enjoying the insult-war that the conversation had long since devolved into. It was because of this that neither made a big thing out of Wheelie not hiding under the bed for the first time since he arrived in their dormitory room.

But he was not ignored. Sam tossed his bag onto the bed after an expletive-laden reference to Leo's geneology, getting a heated Spanglish reponse that he brushed off while he leaned over, rubbed the top of Wheelie's helm in greeting, and turned on his desktop computer (kudos to Bumblebee for ordering it) in one smooth movement. Settling into the desk chair, he swiveled and watched Leo throw his hands up into the air in what seemed to be defeat. "Did I win?"

"Only becuase you didn't understand what I was saying to you, _papí._"

"Four years of high school Spanish from a dude who also ran our health class 'sex ed' for the guys. I know what you were saying. And you're off the mark. My great-grandmother wasn't a donkey. She was a cold bitch."

"Ooooh. Big difference."

"Yeah, one will kick you in the face without warning, the other will chew your face off with a lot of smack-talking. You should hear Dad's stories of the old bag."

Snickering, Leo settled into his own work station to edit his History paper, leaving Sam to look back down at Wheelie. "Hey. Woah. When's . . . nevermind." Reaching down, he scruffed Wheelie amid shrill protests and pulled open a desk drawer to reveal Cybertronian cleansers and polishes in one of the ubiquitous shower baskets that seemed to appear in college dorm rooms. He was intensely thankful for semi-private bathrooms, glad that he only had to share it with Leo and his minions. "You're coming with me. You're getting scrubbed down. And then I'm helping polish you. No Sparkling of mine is gonna look shabby and ill-cared for."

Wheelie was too startled to protest as he was carried to the tiled room, where Sam set him down, turned the water on warm, and then left to get swimming trunks on and begin scrubbing the little frame down with careful hands.

He was _Sam's_. Sam wanted him. Sam cared for him. Sam, the human Prime, had done more for him in three weeks (even though he was _heartbroken_ and Wheelie could feel the bed shake with silent weeping some nights), than Mikayla had done for him in a whole year.

Sam claimed him as his own _Sparkling_.

He curled into the touch after a few minutes of processing this bit of information, blissfully enjoying the undivided attention of the human who was wooing him into trusting again. Who was petitioning for him to become his Caretaker. And Wheelie . . . was starting to believe that he deserved a Caretaker like Sam. Maybe just a little bit.

.o.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Uncurling from his nest under the head of Sam's bed, he crawled out, scaled the side, and scrambled over the lump of startled human to curl up in the hollow of the young man's fetal pose. A hand reached out and pushed a tear off of Sam's face. One pale arm snaked out and curled the mechling closer to his side, still trembling with the pain of a broken heart.

A deep sigh echoed from Leo's bed.

"About friggin' time, kid. I was getting tired of listening to a brother cry himself to sleep."

"Shaddup!" two voices snarled defensively back at the Latino, who simply chuckled and rolled over to


End file.
